


A Song of Ice and Fire - The Shadow Lord

by TheKingRaven91 (Sandman91)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:27:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5228666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandman91/pseuds/TheKingRaven91
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of House Grayer, a noble House in the North sworn to House Stark. As the political landscape of Westeros changes following the Red Wedding, the Grayers have to fight to survive as their rivals begin to circle and a new power claims hold of the North.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. House Grayer and other Houses of the North

 

**HOUSE GRAYER**

 

House Grayer is a noble house in the North sworn to House Stark. Their banner is a roaring shadowcat on a gray field. Their house words are: Blood and Steel. They are seated in Ravenhold, a region in the north-west of the Wolfswood given to them by House Stark thousands of years ago when the North was its own kingdom. The Grayers are one of the more wealthy houses in the North having crafted high-quality weapons and armor forged in the catacombs beneath Ravenhold. They trade and sell their weapons throughout the Seven Kingdoms and beyond the Narrow Sea. House Grayer has a substantial military force, its standing army equals about thirteen-hundred men, which is bolstered to about five-thousand when they call on the lesser houses sworn to them.

 

**RYDEN** **GRAYER,** Lord of Ravenhold, Overseer of the Cold Forges

    * his wife **LADY** **NATALEYA,** of House Redwyne



    * their children:

      * **EDWEN,** the heir to Ravenhold, twenty-five years of age

      * **WYLLAM,** commander of the lord's guard, twenty-two years of age

      * **ARIANNE,** the youngest child, thirteen years of age



    * his ward **FREDRYC** **BELLISTAR,** fifteen years of age

    * his household:

      * **MAESTER** **ALREN** , counselor and healer

      * **SEPTON** **JEDDSE,** keeper of the castle sept and library

      * **VARRIN ASHFIELD,** castellan

        * his eldest son **NIKOLAS** , a guardsman

      * **SER JAFER** **MORLEND,** captain of the guard

        * **BANNEN, SEFFRIN, TELLYR, BRENDEL, JOTHOS, TYBERT, DAGEN, PERWYN, ROLPH, GRAYM,** guardsmen

      * **SER EREK** **LONSAW,** master-at-arms, Jafer's cousin

      * **DANIEL** **BREWTER,** steward

        * his daughter **KAYSEE,** handmaiden to Lady Nataleya

      * **HENRICK** **DANERD,** master smith

      * **RELOR** **MASE** , furrier

      * **RACHELL,** handmaiden to Lady Nataleya

      * **KARSON BANDRY,** tavern owner

      * **EVELYSE HARWELL,** tavern worker

    * his personal guard:

      * **SER HADAN ASHFIELD,** Lord's Guard, second born son of Varrin Ashfield

      * **SER SAMUEL LONSAW,** Lord's Guard, Ser Erek's younger brother

      * **SER** **ELYAS** **MASTLEY,** Lord's Guard, Sworn-Sword

      * **SER** **DANNEL** **LORINGER,** Lord's Guard, Sworn-Sword

      * **SER** **RYAM** **CASTIMORE,** Lord's Guard, Sworn-Sword

    * his lesser lords bannermen:

      * **Hallen** **Ashfield,** Lord of Stonehill

      * **Cameryn** **Rathmore,** Lord of Goldspire

      * **Mitchan** **Gower,** Lord of Eastwind

      * **Keven** **Varwyck,** Lord of the Cold End

      * **Gregor** **Maston** , Lord of Redmast

      * **Tamsen** **BrAck,** Lord of Blue Creek




 

lesser houses sworn to Ravenhold are Ashfield, Rathmore, Gower, Varwyck, Maston, Brack.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  **HOUSE DARRE**

 

House Darre is a noble house from the South sworn to House Arryn. Their banner is a black bull on a white field. Their house words are: Courage and Loyalty. House Darre is seated in South Rise just south of the Neck. The knights of House Darre are fierce warriors, though their military might is rather unremarkable to the rest of the Noble Houses.

 

**RISTAN** **DARRE,** Lord of South Rise

    * his wife **LADY** **SATRA** , of House Rossen

    * their children:

      * **MYKAL,** heir of South Rise, twenty-one years of age

      * **JENNICA,** the only daughter, twenty years of age

      * **NYKLAS,** second-born son, nineteen years of age



    * his siblings:

      * **JAKOB,** captain of the guard, Ristan's twin

    * his household:

      * **QUENTIN** **TREMLAR,** captain of the Lord's personal guard

        * his son **RODRIK,** guardsman



    * **MAESTER** **YEGOR,** healer, councilor

    * **VIKTAR** **LANOR** , castellan

    * **BRENT** **ROSSEN,** master-at-arms, Satra's brother



    * his lesser lords bannerman and knights:

      * **SER AMOND CASSLER**

      * **SER VERAN DACKLE**

      * **JON** **CHANDLER,** Lord of Highend

      * **BERNIK** **ROUGHTON,** called Rough Spear

      * **HAROL** **DELLER** , Lord of The Break

      * **TRYNT** **BAYLOR,** Lord of Bleakwind




 

lesser houses sworn to South Rise are Chandler, Roughton, Deller, Baylor and Janne

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HOUSE BELLISTAR**

 

House Bellistar is a disgraced noble house in the North sworn to House Bolton. Their banner is a silver fist on a blue field. Their house words are: The Fist of the North. They were seated in the prosperous hold of Goldspire before a bloody feud with House Grayer had them stripped of their lands and sent to the isolated keep of Blackpoint on the frigid northern coast, only a few days ride from the Wall. They were once a mighty house with a large army, but after the war with House Grayer they began a steady decline. Most of the Bellistar army deserted their lord to become hedge knights or sell-swords, now it is a small rabble of men that are either directly related to the Bellistar bloodline or unshakably loyal soldiers.

 

**TREVYR** **BELLISTAR**

    * his wife **LADY** **MARYN,** of House Carwyn



    * their children:



      * **{ARRON},** heir to Blackpoint, now deceased



      * **ROWAN,** second-born son, twenty three years of age



      * **FREDRYC,** third-born son, fifteen years of age



    * his siblings:

      * **MORREN,** soldier,

        * his son **JASEN** , soldier, twenty years of age

      * **NAYL,** captain of the guard

        * his twin sons **RICKARD** and **GRYMM,** twenty-five years of age

    * his household:

      * **MAESTER KEGRAN,** counselor, healer

      * **GABRIEL** **LOCKEN** , steward

      * **GARRON** **BANNICK,** master-at-arms

        * his son **VELL,** soldier

      * **TRESTIN,** armorer, weapon smith

      * **JARED** **CROWFIELD,** sell-sword, leader of the Blackbloods

        * **RAHARN, DORRAN, TODRIN, BRANTON, DAVIS, CASSON, BRACKS,** The Blackblood Mercenaries

      * **KYLER** **CROWFIELD,** Blackblood lieutenant, Jared's half-sister




\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HOUSE RATHMORE**

 

House Rathmore is a lesser house in the north sworn to House Grayer. Their banner is a gold eagle on a blue field. Their house words are: Live Well, Die Better. House Rathmore is the current house seated in Goldspire having won the prosperous holding in a tourney during the reign of the Mad King Aerys II Targaryen from its then owners House Rossen. Though by that time the goldmines of the region had been mostly used up Cameryn Rathmore has managed to make his house somewhat influential but not enough to rise above its 'lesser' status.

 

**CAMERYN** **RATHMORE,** Lord of Goldspire

    * his wife **LADY** **TREYSA,** of House Rossen

    * their children:

      * **HARLEN,** heir to Goldspire, twenty-seven years of age

      * **WEYLAN** , captain of the guard, twenty-five years of age

      * **ALESSA,** married to Edwen Grayer, twenty-four years of age

      * **MASEN,** soldier, nineteen years of age



    * his bastard daughter **CHELSIE** **SNOW,** twenty-two years of age

    * his household:

      * **MAESTER** **GRENDYLL,** counselor and healer

      * **MICHELL** **BENSAN,** steward

      * **SEPTON** **ALESWOR,** keeper of the sept and library

      * **JACOB** **WILLER,** in charge of the daily gold mining operations

      * **ARYANA** **SAMARTH,** owner of Lord Rathmore's favorite pleasure house




\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HOUSE LAYTON**

 

House Layton is a noble house sworn to House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. Their banner is a yellow crab on a brown field. House Layton fought beside House Greyjoy during the Rebellion after the rise of Robert Baratheon as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Though the Iron Islands were defeated by the King's forces Endrick Layton was given the hold of Brightmyre on Great Wyk for his loyalty and service.

 

**ENDRICK LAYTON,** Lord of Brightmyre, Captain of the _Iron Howler_

    * his wife **{VERELLA},** of House Drumm, now deceased

    * their children:

      * his twin sons **KILLIAN** and **HADRYN,** twenty-two years of age

      * **QUELLON,** the youngest son, eighteen years of age



    * his house hold:

    * **MEREC** **OLPHIN,** first mate of the _Iron Howler_

    * **HILMAR** **STAVES,** captain of the guard

      * **HUGOR, AGNELL, AXELL, FERGARD, REYNARD, LODWYN, OTTWYN, JEOR, ARRYK, CEDRIK, BENFRED,** guardsmen

    * **KENRICK** **LANTHORN,** castellan

    * **CLYDAS** **BLACKHOLD,** master-at-arms

    * **RAYMUN** **VERAYNE,** steward

    * **MAESTER SERAPHION,** councilor and healer




\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HOUSE FORRESTER**

 

House Forrester is a noble house from the Wolfswood in the North of Westeros. They are vassals of House Glover and loyal bannermen of House Stark, and have their seat at the wooden castle of Ironrath. Their words are: Iron From Ice, which echoes their belief that - like the ironwood itself - the adverse conditions and unforgiving landscape of the North only makes them stronger. Their banner is a white ironwood tree on a black field.

 

**GREGOR** **FORRESTER,** Lord of Ironrath

    * his wife **LADY** **ELISSA,** of House Branfield

    * their children:

      * **RODRIK,** the eldest son and heir of Ironrath.

      * **ASHER,** the second-born son, exiled to Essos

      * **MIRA** , the eldest daughter, sent to Highgarden to be a handmaiden to Margaery Tyrell.

      * **ETHAN,** the third-born son

      * **TALIA,** the youngest daughter and Ethan's twin

      * **RYON,** the youngest son



    * his household:

      * **DUNCAN** **TUTTLE,** castellan

      * **MAESTER** **ORTENGRYN,** counselor and healer

      * **SER** **ROYLAND** **DEGORE,** master-at-arms

      * **MALCOLM** **BRANFIELD,** Lady Elissa's brother

      * **GARED** **TUTTLE** , squire to Lord Gregor, Duncan's nephew




\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HOUSE ROSSEN**

 

House Rossen is a former noble house in the north that swore fealty to King Aerys II Targaryen. Their banner is a gray bear on a scarlet field. Their house words are Steadfast and True. The house was dismantled following a tourney in which its lord, Karlon Rossen, was defeated by a pig farmer. House Rossen was removed from its seat in Goldspire and the eldest daughter of Lord Karlon Rossen was married off to the pig farmer Cameryn Rathmore, who's house won the claim to Goldspire as per the terms of the bet between Karlon and Rathmore. After being stripped of his lands, Karlon Rossen was exiled from the Seven Kingdoms and remarried a Braavosi sell-sword that bore him three strong sons.

 

**KARLON** **ROSSEN** , former lord of Goldspire, exiled across the Narrow Sea

    * his wife **{LADY** **FALYSE** }, deceased



    * their children:

      * **BRENT,** their eldest son, forty years of age

      * **TREYSA,** their eldest daughter, thirty-eight years of age

      * **SATRA,** their youngest daughter, thirty-six years of age



    * his second wife **VELENA** , a Braavosi sell-sword

    * their children:

      * **ROBAR** , their eldest son, thirty years of age

      * **DAREON,** their second-born son, twenty-nine years of age

      * **GREGON,** their third-born, son, twenty-seven years of age




 

 

 


	2. The House of Blood and Steel - Ryden

**[RYDEN]**

The night air was filled with celebration, voices were carried by the cool summer breeze up to the Lord's balcony where he stood looking down upon the many people who had come to witness the union between his son and the eldest daughter of the Lord of House Rathmore. Ryden Grayer stood with his arms clasped behind his back feeling oddly mixed about the wedding that had just taken place in his Great Hall. He was tall and his face was handsome, though now it was lined with age, his dark hair was heavily streaked with bands of gray causing several of the visiting lords, with all their drunken cleverness, to call him Lord Ryden the Grayer. Cameryn Rathmore, the father of his daughter-in-law, found it particularly funny and laughed harder and harder every time he heard it said aloud with every cup of Dornish Red he downed. Even amongst the many drunks and winos that had come to the wedding Lord Rathmore had outdone them all at the celebration, yes he was losing his daughter to another house but that house was also much greater than his own in both wealth and nobility.

_Yes, I would be celebrating like a fool too if I had fared as well as he had today._ Ryden thought as guests began to pour out of the Great Hall and into the courtyard, laughing and twirling to the music of equally drunken minstrels and bards.

House Rathmore clearly got the better of the arrangement, they would receive a discount on the high-quality weapons and armor that House Grayer had based its wealth on over the last thousand years and the ability to ask House Grayer to use its influence to pressure other lesser houses in the North into accepting whatever deals they were negotiating with the Rathmores. The only thing that Ryden and his house got out the marriage was access to the large military force of House Rathmore which stood just under one-thousand men, which would bolster the already massive force that Ryden had at his command. House Grayer had an army of seven-thousand men, each highly-trained and suitably armored with quality weapons and armor. Should the Lord of Winterfell ever call upon the full strength of his bannermen, House Grayer would be one of the largest forces to answer.

Despite his loyalty to House Stark, no representative from the Warden of the North had arrived to observe the wedding, nor had any other house of significant nobility. Instead it was mostly lesser houses looking to arrange a marriage between Ryden's only daughter Arianne or his second-born son Wyllam with the lowborn son or daughter they felt was worthy of such a union. It was almost like they were spitting in his face, they felt that if one lesser lord could snake his way into a more powerful house then maybe they could do it too. He would never let Arianne marry into a lesser house and he wasn't about to let another lowborn woman grab hold of his second-born son. With that said though Alessa Rathmore was a decent girl, gracious and elegant and she boasted a mind that was sharper than most Valyrian swords. And she was definitely a woman who was easy to look at. She was tall with long dark red hair that she often wore in two strands that were braided tightly to her skull. She had a slim but curvaceous build, a full chest, smooth pale skin and piercing green eyes.

Alessa held herself as a true lady of the North despite having a boar of a man for a father, and that was the only reason he had consented to the marriage between her and his firstborn son Edwen. Ryden smiled at the thought of his eldest son, who was his spitting image at age twenty-five. Tall and broad-shouldered with dark hair and pale-blue eyes, Edwen was solid muscle and already one of the better swordsmen in Ravenhold, the land in the north-west of the Wolfswood that had been given to House Grayer by House Stark long ago. Edwen was quiet and thoughtful and never made a decision on a whim. Ryden had made him study all the major military campaigns of the last few decades as a boy, making him observe the tactics used by each side and how certain outcomes of critical engagements may have changed if someone had done this instead of that. Should there ever be another war Edwen would be a valuable asset. Yes both Edwen and Alessa were smart and Ryden couldn't help but smile at the thought about how clever his grandchildren would be.

“I wondered where you had got to,” A soft voice said from behind him. “Are you done celebrating already?”

Ryden smiled broadly and looked over his shoulder. “Unlike most of the other lords partaking in tonight's festivities who think they are twenty years younger than they actually are, I know enough to admit when I'm too old to dance drunkenly through a courtyard.”

Lady Nataleya smiled at her husband and moved up beside him on the balcony. “Even at your firstborn son's own wedding?”

“Especially at my firstborn son's wedding.” Ryden laughed. “The last thing I would want to do is make myself look like a drunken, senile old fool in front of him!”

“Why is that?” Nataleya asked wrapping her arms around her husband's much larger one and peering down at the large crowd building up below them.

“Edwen has two things that are rapidly eluding me.” Ryden said looking down at her. “Strength and youth. Making a fool of myself might only make him think I'm no longer fit to rule Ravenhold.”

Nataleya laughed. “I think your youth eluded you quite a while ago my dear.” Ryden furrowed his brow but the smile remained on his face. “And neither of our sons would ever think of usurping you. Edwen and Wyllam would pummel any man who ever so much as voiced the idea you were unfit to rule.”

“I suppose you're right my lady, but I'd like to think that Edwen would use his brain to deal with such things. A lord must know when to wield force and when to stay it. A man must not be judged by what he says in the midst of a night of hard drinking.”

“I would think that talking of usurping the lord would warrant a forceful response.” Nataleya said.

Ryden sighed. “Yes, depending on the circumstances. A man who's boasting to his friends in the tavern that he'd make a better lord after too much wine doesn't deserve the same fate as a man conspiring quietly in the corner of the same tavern. I would hope that Edwen would understand that and react accordingly, Wyllam on the other hand....he always prefers the heavy handed way of dealing with things.”

Nataleya smiled. “Wyllam is always happier when he's doing something destructive....or something that he knows will infuriate you.” She stood up on her toes and and craned her neck to look at the far edge of the crowd below the balcony.

Ryden followed her eyes and immediately found what his wife was looking at. The long brown hair of his second-born son was easy to spot amongst the crowd dancing in the courtyard. The woman he was twirling around like a leaf was also very identifiable, bearing the features of House Rathmore; dark blood-red, hair, pale skin and green eyes. Wyllam had managed to find Lord Rathmore's bastard daughter Chelsie. Ryden let out a half-growl, half-sigh and gripped the edge of the balcony tightly in his huge hands. It was not unknown that Wyllam and Chelsie fancied each other, and Lord Rathmore was more than thrilled with the idea of marrying his bastard daughter into House Grayer and further strengthening his ties to Ryden's political ties and money. Ryden wasn't as sold on the idea of a marriage between his only other son and the daughter of a whore from Rathmore's holding in Goldspire. In fact he outright disapproved of the idea.

And Wyllam knew that.

“I told him to stay away from her!” Ryden rumbled.

“You didn't always listen to your father if I remember correctly.” Nataleya said. “You seem to ignore the fact that there is a lot more of you in Wyllam than you care to admit.”

“I will not have my son marry the bastard daughter of Lord Cameryn Rathmore!” Ryden said. “Alessa was one thing, but Chelsie Snow is entirely different.”

“Have you spoken with the girl?” Nataleya asked. “She's very much like her sister.”

“I don't care,” Ryden said turning from the balcony and heading inside. “Her mother was a whore, and I will not have my son mixing our blood with that kind of lineage.”

“No one knows who her mother is.” Nataleya called after him as she tried to match her husband's larger stride. “You just assume her mother is a whore because you don't like her father.”

“Who else could her mother be? Lord Rathmore's whoring is second only to that of King Baratheon himself!” Ryden said. “And while we're talking about bloodlines I think Wyllam gets his need to infuriate me from you.”

“That isn't entirely improbable.” Nataleya smirked as she caught up with her husband. “Where are you going?”

“To see Henrick.” Ryden snapped.

“The swordsmith?” Nataleya asked perplexed. “Why, are you going to run Wyllam through?”

“As much as I'd sometimes like to, no.” Ryden rumbled as his fury calmed a little. “I'm checking on the progress of an item I commissioned as a gift for Edwen.”

“At this hour? When did you commission this gift?”

“When the wedding details were finalized.” Ryden said descending a set of winding stairs.

“That was a year ago and Henrick still hasn't finished!?”

“Swords take time to make, and I've been rather exacting on this particular piece of Ravenhold Steel.” Ryden said.

He and his wife descended lower into the depths of their hold into the large foundry that was responsible for the production of the armor and weapons House Grayer supplied to other houses throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The forges had been built by Ryden's ancestor Belgrin Grayer after being given a trio of goldmines as thanks by another house who had asked him for aid. Ryden scowled at the thoughts of the Bellistars, they had once been good allies of House Grayer but greed had driven them apart and eventually to war. The war had not ended well for the Bellistars who had been stripped of their lands in Goldspire, which had passed hands through several houses and was now ironically ruled by the Rathmores, and moved to the desolate coastal holdfast of Blackpoint where even the summers were as bitter and cold as the lands north of the Wall.

The Cold Forges, as the smiths had come to call them, were built within a massive cave network that Ravenhold had been built upon. Even the massive flames and heat from the seven pits could not warm the caves entirely. The cold and damp of the forges always made his knees ache as he descended the large staircase. The sounds of hammers on metal echoed monstrously throughout the caves and it smelled horribly of sulfur and molten rock. Racks upon racks of finished swords and battle-axes lined the smooth walls of the caves as smiths and their squires and apprentices hurried about carrying items from one place to another. None of them seemed to pay any notice to Ryden or Nataleya as they proceeded deeper into the caves. Ryden glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the amazement on his wife's face. This was not a place for a Lady of Ravenhold, and she had seldom been down here. This was actually the first time he could recall seeing her in the forges in the last two decades.

“My Lord!” a voice called from up ahead. A well muscled man covered in dirt and soot and sweat approached them with an equally dirty boy no more than the age of seven padding behind him. “You've come for the blade?”

“Aye Henrick, if it is done.” Ryden said coming to a stop at arms length from the smith.

“It is m'lord, finished it this morning.” Henrick said as he tapped the boy on the forehead and beckoned him back the way he came. The boy furrowed his eyebrows but padded off back towards the farthest forge. “I have to say it is a fine blade, the finest I have ever crafted Lord Grayer.”

Ryden smiled. “If that is to be true, you shall be greatly rewarded.” Henrick bowed deeply. The boy came jogging back with a long black scabbard in his arms. The sword was twice as tall as he was and it kept throwing him off balance as he moved, swaying to the right and left until he could regain his center.

“Hurry it up lad, the Lord doesn't have all night.” Henrick growled. The boy huffed annoyingly but managed to catch his footing and make it over to the trio. Henrick grabbed the scabbard and presented it to Ryden with a satisfied grin. Ryden grabbed the scabbard gently and examined it. It was made of fine black leather and accented with bands of silver near the weapons hilt, towards the middle and down at the point. Ryden nodded approvingly and then drew the longsword from the scabbard. Nataleya gasped. The sword was truly beautiful. It wasn't Valyrian steel, but it gleamed brightly in the darkness of the forges as silver as the hair on the Mad King's rotting head. The cross-guards at the weapons hilt were encrusted with silver and onyx bands and an onyx gem had been placed where hilt met blade on both sides. “Lord Grayer I present you with Grayfang.”

“Ryden, it is gorgeous.” Nataleya said running a finger up the flat of the blade.

“Aye it is, a proper lordly sword.” Ryden said sheathing the longsword. “Definitely your best work Henrick. How can I reward such craftsmanship?”

Henrick grinned crookedly, “Lord Rathmore brought a very friendly bunch of handmaidens with him, I wouldn't mind having the company of one of them for the night.” Handmaiden was a stretch. Rathmore had tried to dress up his brothel on wheels, but had fooled no one. Ryden sighed.

“If that is what you wish then I shall make it happen, but work like this may be worth the company of two or three handmaidens.”

“You are too kind m'lord!” Henrick said with a bow.

Ryden slapped him on the shoulder. “Up you fool and clean yourself and come and get drunk with the rest of the House. I will have my ward find you something to wear.”

Henrick bowed again. “Thank you Lord Ryden,” He looked to Nataleya and bowed again. “Lovely to see you again Lady Grayer.” Nataleya dipped her head with a smile as the smith hurried off to his quarters to wash the ash and soot from his body, which seemed like an enormous task for only a single person to undertake. Ryden smiled and tucked the longsword under his lavish black fur cloak.

“Come my lady, its time we made a lord of our son.”

 

 


	3. The House of Blood and Steel - Edwen

**[EDWEN]**  

The Great Hall hadn't been this packed in years, at least not as far back as Edwen could remember. Not even his father's fiftieth name day had drawn such a crowd. There were houses from all over Westeros represented at the long tables stretched across the smoke-filled room, but not a single house was of any major importance. There were the Forresters who lived less than a two-day ride to the east in the Wolfswood where they cut down the massive ironwood trees and crafted quality shields and other items for the Crown, they were vassals of House Glover. There were the Bellistars, a house that Edwen and his family had little love for but had invited to the wedding out of courtesy to the Rathmores, who had some connection to them that they hadn't really elaborated on. There were the Rathmores themselves, and many houses that Edwen had never heard of. There were the Carwyns, the Ellkes and the Wicketts each one from the South and related to the Rathmores through marriage in one way or another.

There were so many names that he had given up trying to remember them all. Most of the people here didn't really care about the wedding at all, no some were here to eat and drink like the fake kings and queens they pretended to be, others just wanted to get close to his father for the elevation in stature. Edwen had started his day by scaring off a few undesirable suitors who had cornered his young sister and asking her if she had been married off yet. Before it had even been past noon he had threatened or intimidated at least a half dozen more already drunken men from doing the same thing. He'd had other things on his mind and other things to do, but no one seemed to be looking out for Arianne not even his younger brother Wyllam. No, Wyllam was preoccupied with the bastard daughter of Lord Rathmore. Edwen had been trying to keep an eye on them throughout the day, but with so many people in the keep it had been a difficult task. He had lost site of them both during the wedding ceremony, which in itself had been nothing more than a formality.

He had seen it in his bride's eyes. The pledges and commitments they had sworn to each other in front of the Seven and all the people in Ravenhold had been empty promises. Their marriage was one made out of business not out of love. Even the kiss they had shared had been dull and lifeless. Now they sat at the High Table at the front of the room, they hadn't even looked at each other but instead downed glasses of sweet summerwine and ate their fill of roasted boar. He decided to try and break the silence and looked over at his bride. Alessa looked truly beautiful, there wasn't a man in the Realm who would have said the opposite. She was wearing a silk dress in the colors of House Rathmore, a deep reddish-purple trimmed with black. Her dark-brown hair fell down bellow her shoulders instead of the two tight braids she normally wore. In her ears were two garnet stones that had been given to her by his mother, who was of House Redwyne descent though she had little contact with her old house. Around her throat Alessa wore a choker made of lace the same color as her dress and on her head sat a glistening silver circlet encrusted with rubies.

His garb wasn't as jewel encrusted as hers, it was simple but nonetheless handsome. He was wearing a fine wool tunic and breeches topped by a long cloak made of expensive shadowcat fur, all of it clad in the colors of House Grayer: a dark charcoal trimmed with a lighter gray. His large forearms were clad in dark leather bracers, emblazoned with the roaring shadowcat of House Grayer, that had belonged to his grandfather and passed to his father and then down to him. As old as they were they showed little of the age they boasted. His feet were secured in fine leather boots that were the most uncomfortable thing he had ever worn but his father had insisted he wear them. He had refused to shave the stubble on his face however, much to his mother's dislike. Though he did concede to having his hair trimmed so it no longer fell beneath his ears. His head felt lighter without the extra hair and colder, but he had to admit he liked the shorter look better.

“Quite a turnout.” he said to his bride

She responded with a noncommittal grunt as she took another swallow of summerwine from her cup. “None of them are here for us.” she said with an angry scowl at the room, angry at the men who were trying to do to their daughters what her father had done to her.

“No, they aren't.” Edwen said flatly as he refilled his cup with a pleasing vintage of strongwine. The dancing and partying and laughter of their guests went on for hours after the ceremony, the Great Hall had become so thick with smoke that his eyes were beginning to sting. Someone opened the large doors of the hall and everyone in the room seemed to move as one into the courtyard outside, the minstrels and bards leading the way. Edwen didn't move from his spot and neither did Alessa.

“My Lord Edwen.” A voice said from beside him.

“Yes Maester Alren?” Edwen said without looking. The man's crackling voice and the clinking of the chain of his order gave him away easily, even in the noise overcoming the Great Hall.

“My lord, neither you nor your bride have taken part in the festivities save for the first dance. It would look odd if you didn't join in before the night is over.”

“These fools are too drunk to notice whether or not we dance around amongst them.” Alessa said, the amount of wine she had downed had barely seemed to affect her at all.

Edwen sighed. He knew if he didn't dance at least for a few minutes with his new bride that the maester would be hovering by him for the rest of the night.

“Alessa, a few dances won't hurt.” He said to his wife. She scowled at him as she took in some more wine. “If you dance with me, I promise you won't hear another word from me the rest of the night.”

Alessa sighed heavily and finished her wine and then stood up. Edwen extended his hand to her and she grabbed hold of it, a lot tighter than she needed to. Members of the crowd began to cheer and the sea of people parted as they descended from the High Table and down through the hall. The cold North summer wind blew through the large open doors sending an unearthly chill through his body. Still it hadn't stopped the lesser lords and ladies from dancing into the night and it wasn't about to stop him. When they finally made it out into the courtyard the bards and minstrels had finished one song and upon seeing the newly married couple began to play a slow ballad played often in the courts of the South.

He heard Alessa curse. All the couples in the courtyard slowed down and embraced each other, dancing in slow circles. Edwen laughed, “You knew we were going to have to get close tonight at some point right?”

“I was hoping it would only be for the one time and then I could roll over and go to sleep and pray to the Gods that this is all just a bad dream.” She said sourly as she turned to face him and draped her arms around his neck.

He smiled at her and put his hands on her hips and they both fell into the rhythm of the music, dancing in slow circles. Her body felt good against his, she kept herself in remarkably great shape. He could feel the muscles under her silk dress. Outside in the cold open air he could actually smell the perfume the handmaidens had doused her with. It was a vaguely spicy scent mixed with wildflowers that grew on the hillsides outside of Ravenhold. She shivered against the cold wind and reluctantly pressed herself closer to him to take advantage of the warmth provided by his shadowcat cloak. Edwen couldn't help but laugh and the look that came over her face was a fury colder than any North wind he had ever felt. She looked away from him and pressed her face to his chest and the furred trim of the shadowcat cloak.

For what felt like forever they danced liked that and Edwen was able to pretend that the woman pressed against him was actually in love with him. He had certainly cared about her. Ever since the day she had been sent to foster with his House and serve as his mothers ward as a young child of eight years old. When she wasn't spending her time serving his mother Alessa had been expected to spend all of her time with him, to get to know who her future husband would be. Back then she had actually liked him and they had been best friends. Things changed though, she returned to her home in Goldspire when she was eighteen due to a falling out between his father and hers and it seemed like the marriage would be called off. For a few years things were left up in the air until Lord Rathmore had approached his father again seeking to marry his eldest daughter to the eldest son of House Grayer. A deal was made and Alessa returned to Ravenhold as a twenty-three year old woman that had stolen the breath from him.

At first she had been happy to see him, but for some reason she slowly soured and eventually just stopped talking to him. The only communication that they had before the wedding was during the planning sessions when his input had been needed on something. Tonight had been the first real conversation he'd had with her since her arrival in Ravenhold. The music came to a stop and the people in the crowd clapped and laughed for the minstrels and bards. Edwen let go of Alessa and as she pulled away he could have sworn he had seen a smile on her face, but it was gone almost immediately. Something had caught her eye behind him. He turned and looked and saw a group of Bellistar men sitting around a large flagon of wine and laughing.

“That bastard girl of Rathmore's sure can dance can't she boys!” one of the men was saying.

“Aye, probably gets those moved from her whore of a mother.” another one said.

Laughter roiled up amongst the group of men and Alessa's eyes narrowed almost to slits. Edwen grabbed her by the wrist and shook his head. “They're nothing more than drunken pigs, they aren't worth the waste of breath.”

“If they were saying that about _your_ sister, you'd be on your way over there right now!” she hissed at him. Alessa was probably the only person besides Wyllam who didn't see Chelsie as a bastard. She didn't care who her little sister's mother had been. During her fostering at Ravenhold Alessa had wrote almost exclusively to Chelsie on a daily basis. Alessa was right, if the Bellistars had been talking about Arianne like that he would have gone over there. “But you don't care what they say about my sister because she's a bastard!”

She tried to push past him but he pulled her back. “Don't do anything stupid.” Edwen said more calmly than he felt.

A smile actually formed across her face. “Doesn't look like I'll have to.”

Edwen stood there for a few moments confused. Dawning hit him like a stone in the back of the head and he wheeled around. A man a head taller than anyone else in the crowd was heading towards the Bellistar men. His long brown hair and dark robes were easy to identify.

“Wyllam.” Edwen growled. He shot off to intercept his younger but larger brother before he did something that would end up with his head on a pike. The Bellistar men saw Wyllam approaching and stood up from their seated positions around the flagon, preparing for a fight. Edwen got to the Bellistars the same moment that Wyllam did and he had to physically place himself between his brother and the drunken guests. “Wyllam stop!” he yelled putting his hand out and giving his brother a shove in the opposite direction.

Wyllam slapped his arm out of the way and pointed at the Bellistars. “I'm not going to let them just sit there and talk about Chelsie like that!”

“Yes you will!” Edwen growled, “Father will not stand for you getting into a fight over a bastard.”

“I. Don't. Care.” Wyllam hissed.

“Listen to me!” Edwen said. “If you start something with the Bellistars over Chelsie Snow, father will not help you. _I_ won't be able to help you.”

“Yeah you better listen to your brother there Grayer, unless you want to lose your head.” one of the Bellistars yelled. “She's just a bastard, nothing more than a piece of ass to warm the bed in the night.”

Wyllam snarled and Edwen cursed. Wyllam moved towards the Bellistars and Edwen did the only thing he could do. He threw a particularly vicious right hook that caught his brother in the left eye socket. The punch was hard enough that it actually floored Wyllam. Edwen stood over his younger brother and looked down at him sternly. “Go back to the keep.”

A crowd had gathered around them, near the front stood both Alessa and Chelsie who both looked rather shocked. He stared at Chelsie for a few seconds, just long enough to let her know who he felt was responsible for this. Wyllam spit a thick glob of blood and saliva into the dirt and looked up at his older brother. Edwen was no small man, taller than most and well muscled, but Wyllam was a head taller and significantly stronger, but in that moment Edwen looked very much like the lord he was to become. The look of anger and betrayal on his siblings face hurt Edwen but he didn't let it show as Wyllam got to his feet and turned away and walked back to the Great Hall. The Bellistars began laughing, harsh cackling sounds the cut into Edwen's ears like burning knives.

“It makes sense you know,” one of the Bellistars said. “The bigger the man, the bigger the coward.”

The laughter increased and before he knew what he was doing Edwen knocked the man flat on the ground, knocking him out cold. The Bellistars all quieted down and looked at their unconscious friend in disbelief and then back at Edwen. The anger on their faces was plain to see but as they threw down their wine cups and advanced on him the knights of Ravenhold appeared behind their future lord, swords drawn and at their sides.

“Bastard though she may be,” Edwen said advancing on the Bellistars. “Chelsie Snow is the sister of my bride. Insulting her is to insult me. You did insult me by insulting my brother. You'd be wise to not do it again.” His voice was low and menacing but the Bellistar men were having none of it.

“What is going on here?!” A man yelled as he forced his way through the crowd of people. He looked down at the unconscious Bellistar man and then at the drunken Bellistars and then to Edwen and his knights.

“Your men are misbehaving Rowan.” Edwen said to the Second-born son of the Lord of House Bellistar. “We welcome you into our Hall and let you drink our wine and this is how you repay us?”

“It looks like my man got he poorer treatment.” Rowan Bellistar said. He was a stern looking man and a few years younger than Edwen. His dirty-blonde hair was slicked back behind his head. His long royal blue cloak was pulled tightly around his shoulders against the cold winds. “But then again, you Grayers have always treated my house like a pile of horseshit.”

“I let you come here as a courtesy to my bride's house, and to let you see your little brother.” Edwen said.

“How kind of you considering it is your fault that one my brothers is dead and the other held hostage.” Rowan growled.

“Arron killed one of our men, it was his life or hundreds more if our houses had gone to war.” Edwen said. “Giving Fredryc to us as a ward was the best outcome for your house.”

“We had no say in the matter, Lord Stark said we had to just after cutting my brother's head from his shoulders.”

Edwen shook his head. “I will hear no more of this on my wedding day, Ser Jafer see to it that House Bellistar is seen off our lands.”

“Aye m'lord.” Jafer Morlend, Captain of the Guard, said as he and his guardsmen stepped forward. The Bellistars collected their unconscious friend and Ser Jafer and his guards escorted them out of the courtyard. The crowd parted behind Edwen as his father and mother came wandering out into the crowd.

“What was all this about?” Ryden asked looking on as his knights ushered out the Bellistars.

“Just Bellistars being Bellistars,” Edwen said without looking at his father and keeping his eyes on the departing group. “I took care of it.”

“I can see that, but what did they do?” Ryden said.

Edwen turned to his father. “They had too much wine and started harassing our other guests.”

Ryden nodded. “Damn it, I told Rathmore I didn't want those fucking miscreants here at the wedding. Figures they'd be the ones to start something.”

Edwen clapped his father on the shoulder and turned to look at the group of minstrels and bards. “Continue,” He looked back at the crowd. “There's plenty of wine left, and I've never known a true man of the North to leave a flagon full!”

The crowd roared and the music commenced again and Edwen headed back towards the Great Hall, having had his fill of dancing and music. Almost everyone had left the hall and moved out into the courtyard to continue celebrating. The only people left inside were the cooks and squires who were already beginning to clean the mess. One of them was standing near the glass windows that looked out into the courtyard. His dirty-blonde hair and sharp features might as well have been the same as a brand burned into his skin. Fredryc Bellistar watched as Jafer Morlend herded his family outside the Ravenhold gates, his face set in a look of true despair. Edwen often felt for the poor boy, he was hardly fifteen and had already spent five of those years behind the walls of Ravenhold, essentially being held hostage as a ward to the Grayer family. It was a punishment that had been handed down by Lord Eddard Stark after the eldest of Lord Trevyr Bellistar's sons, Arron Bellistar, had killed a Grayer guardsman in one of the smallfolk villages just outside the Wolfswood.

Arron had claimed it was self-defense, that the Grayer guard had attacked him first but Edwen's father hadn't believed it for a second. Knowing the bloody history between the two Houses Lord Stark had intervened to prevent a war. He had heard the stories from the smallfolk in the village and the other Grayer guardsmen as well as the Bellistar soldiers who'd been there. He'd asked why the Bellistars had entered the holdings of House Grayer and the Bellistar soldiers had said they were going to do some hunting in the Wolfswood and that they had been waylaid by the Grayer guards. The smallfolk had said this wasn't true and that the Bellistars had shown up and started causing trouble, chasing around the women and damaging some of the village structures. Grayer guards had arrived from one of the nearby goldmines to put and end to it. The smallfolk had told Lord Stark that the Grayer guards had gone out of their way to try to reach a peaceful resolution but that Arron Bellistar wouldn't have one and killed the nearest Grayer soldier.

Killing a man meant facing the King's Justice and meeting the ancient Valyrian blade wielded by Lord Stark. Riding to Blackpoint, the isolated keep of House Bellistar on the northern coast, Edwen and his father along with Lord Stark and members of his house, had demanded that Trevyr Bellistar hand over his eldest son or have him taken by force. With swords from House Stark and House Grayer outside his gates, Trevyr Bellistar had little choice but to do as he was told. Later that afternoon the Valyrian Greatsword named Ice effortlessly cleaved Arron Bellistar's head from his shoulders. A death for a death. Lord Stark had then ordered Trevyr to turn over his ten year old son to Lord Grayer as additional punishment.

Edwen still remembered Fredryc's mother screaming as the combined forces of House Stark and House Grayer departed Blackpoint and made for their respective holdings. Fredryc had been placed on Edwen's horse and had been given very little in the way of warm clothing to wear on the long, cold ride back to Ravenhold. He would never forget how small Fredryc had seemed at ten years old shivering and sobbing in the cold wind. Edwen had decided to take pity on him and had wrapped him up in his shadowcat cloak. Ever since then he'd always tried to look out for the boy, after all he hadn't done anything wrong. Edwen was the only one though. His father and mother had always treated him like a slave, often yelling at him and hitting him if he didn't do something they wanted the way they wanted or if he didn't do it quick enough. Bastards from the villages received better treatment from his parents that Fredryc did.

Seeing Fredryc watch his older brother leave reminded him of the day they had taken him from Blackpoint. Edwen knew that he had to talk to Wyllam and try to stop whatever kind of brush fire that may have started there, but his soft spot for Fredryc also told him that he needed to talk to the young ward. Edwen walked over to the windows and stopped a few paces short of Fredryc.

“How are you holding up?”

Fredryc looked down at his feet. “As well as you'd expect for someone who hasn't spoken to any of his family in years and then has to watch as they are thrown out before getting to see them.”

Edwen furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Lord Grayer told me to remain in the kitchens and aid the cooks with the feast.” Fredryc said looking back out the window. “He said he didn't want me anywhere near the Bellistar delegation. Apparently he was under the presumption I would have conspired with my brother to hurt your house.”

“I'm sorry.” Edwen said truthfully. “You should have come to me, I might have been able to help you.”

Fredryc turned around and smiled at Edwen. “I know you would have Edwen, but your father would have been angry that you went against his direct orders. I won't have you getting punished for me.”

“I'm not some young stable boy Fredryc, I can stand up to my father.”

“I can't.” Fredryc said flatly. “Any punishment he'd have in store for you would be a thousand times worse for me.”

It was true. The last time someone had angered his father he had punished Fredryc for it, twenty-five lashes for something he hadn't even been responsible for doing.

“I'll speak to my father, try to get him to ease up on you.”

“I'd appreciate that,” Fredryc smiled. “But your brother isn't going to be helping me any with the way he's carrying on.”

“Right, which way did he go?”

“To the kitchens, the Rathmore bastard was right behind him.”

Edwen groaned. “Does he have any sense in that thick skull of his?”

Fredryc shrugged. “He was in a foul mood, the Rathmore girl was trying to tend to a cut above his eye but he wouldn't let her touch him. He grabbed a wine goblet and smashed it on the floor. He had some choice words to say particularly about you Edwen.”

“I'm sure he did.” Edwen sighed heavily and looked down at the ground. “Come on, help me find the wounded beast.”

“Do I have the ability to say no?” Fredryc asked with a smile.

Edwen grabbed the boy playfully by the neck. “You can always tell me no Fredryc, just as long as you do what I tell you when it counts.”

Fredryc laughed. “If that's the case I guess I'll come along, I don't really have anything else to do unless Lord Grayer has need of me.”

“Then lets get you out of sight before he finds you.” Edwen said steering the ward away from the window and towards the kitchens.

Wyllam wasn't any fonder of Fredryc than anyone else in Ravenhold and being just a boy of fifteen years he wouldn't be able to do much if things came to blows between Wyllam and himself. The only reason Edwen was bringing him along was to keep the boy away from his father. There was no doubt that after the dust up with the Bellistars that Ryden would look to make Fredryc pay for his house's poor manners. The boy already had enough scars from false accusations and wrongful punishments. The two of them proceeded to the back of the Great Hall and passed through the large ironwood doors that lead into the kitchens. The cooks and squires seemed to have vacated the area, most likely at Wyllam's command. He was sitting at a small table at the back of the kitchens with a tankard of black beer in his hands while Chelsie sat on the bench beside him dabbing at his eye with cloth. Edwen huffed and removed his shadowcat cloak. It was an expensive item and not easily replaced. He handed it to Fredryc.

“Do me a favor and hold this, you can wear it if you like.” Edwen said. He knew Fredryc was very fond of the cloak. It had kept him warm on the long journey from Blackpoint to Ravenhold as a boy. He took the cloak and folded it in his arms and stood back as Edwen approached his brother. Chelsie saw him approaching and sat up straighter and fixed him with the same cold stare that Alessa constantly gave him when she thought he wasn't looking.

“What more do you want?” She called at him.

“To check on my brother.” Edwen said without stopping. “I didn't want to do what I did, hurting you was the last thing I intended.”

Wyllam looked up. His eye was already blackened and blood was spilling out steadily from a crescent shaped cut in his left eyebrow. Edwen inhaled as he took in the damage he had caused his brother.

“Don't worry about my face, its the least of my worries.” He said darkly.

Edwen blinked at him a few times and Chelsie decided to fill the silence. “You humiliated him! In front of all of those people. In front of the guardsmen he is supposed to lead.”

“What I did was for his own good.” Edwen shot back fixing Chelsie with an equally cold stare. “Assaulting one of the Bellistars for insulting you would have started something neither house needs right now. Trevyr Bellistar is already looking for a reason to march on us and reclaim Fredryc as it is.”

“The Bellistars were in the wrong.” Wyllam hissed. “We almost went to war with them five years ago, we both know it is going to happen sooner or later.”

“That was different they killed one of _us!_ Going to war over what was said about a bastard is a stupid reason to waste the lives of hundreds of men.” Edwen shouted at his brother. He looked at Chelsie. “Do you want that? Do you want the men of my keep to march on Blackpoint? Do you want not only those few thousand men to risk their lives, but for Wyllam to risk his too?” Chelsie began to look uncertain and Edwen pushed on. “You'd have two armies gutting each other, men widowing wives and children losing fathers just because your honor was insulted. Maybe if you were the Queen of the Realm I could understand that, I would march my armies on any keep you wished because it is my sworn duty. But you are not queen, you aren't even a lady. You're the bastard of a lord who can't keep his cock in his pants. You are not worth the lives of my men, you are not worth the life of my brother and you are definitely not worth _my_ life.”

Wyllam's eyes were blazing with anger but he hadn't moved from the bench beside the table. Maybe he found some sense in the harsh words Edwen had thrown at Chelsie. Tears were streaming down the sides of her face but she wasn't sobbing as she stood up from the table. Edwen saw it coming but couldn't move quick enough to avoid the slender fist that collided with the side of his face. He was shocked more than anything else that she had struck him, she didn't run or anything afterwards either. She stood there in front of him all defiance and anger waiting for him to make the next move. Wyllam sprung to his feet as well and had placed himself between her and Edwen. All Edwen could do was laugh. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and it came away with a smeared trail of blood.

“Chelsie!” a stunned cry echoed throughout the kitchens. Alessa came rushing forwards with Fredryc a few paces behind her. “What are you doing!”

“He deserved it.” Chelsie said sheepishly. The only person she seemed to fear was her half-sister, and rightly so. “You didn't hear what he said to me.”

“I did.” Alessa said inspecting the cut on Edwen's bottom lip. He knew that her concern wasn't for his own well being but for her sister's. “And he is right, going to war for your honor isn't worth the cost in lives. Edwen dealt with the Bellistars and no lives will be lost. Though you clearly you have no interest in keeping your own, you struck the heir of Ravenhold. Do you understand what could happen? Lord Ryden already dislikes you as it is.”

“He won't touch me, our father wouldn't let him.”

“Our father only cares about what's best for the house, having a Highborn lord looking unfavorably on him isn't what's best for the house. He will hang you out to dry and leave you at the mercy of the Lord of Ravenhold.” Alessa said.

“I won't let him touch her.” Wyllam said grabbing Chelsie's hand.

Edwen put his hands on his hips. The frustration was building inside him, there was no way they would ever be married as long as his father was the lord of Ravenhold. But they were both clearly set on going against his wishes. “Fine, you do what you want. I will do what I can to keep father unaware, but he isn't a fool. You need to keep to your daily duties Wyllam.”

Wyllam nodded his head. “I can do that.”

It would only be for a few more days at the least. The Rathmore delegation would be leaving at the end of the week and Chelsie Snow would be on her way back to Goldspire. Hopefully after that things would somewhat return to normal.

“You better.” Edwen said. He turned and walked towards the ironwood doors to the Great Hall. Alessa and Fredryc were right beside him.

“Edwen, Lord Ryden and Lady Nataleya are in the Great Hall waiting for you.” Fredryc said as he handed Edwen back his cloak and helped him fasten it around his shoulders.

“Shit.” He sighed. “Think you can put on one of your best fake smiles and act like things are perfectly fine?” he asked Alessa.

“I don't really have much of a choice.” She said inhaling deeply. She grabbed his hand with hers and laid her head on his shoulder putting on a smile that would convince anyone she was truly in love.

Edwen rolled his eyes as he walked forward with his loving bride and threw open the ironwood doors. Sure enough his mother and father were standing near the High Table at the front of the room beaming proudly at their firstborn and his new bride. They walked over to the lord and lady of the house with Fredryc trailing a few paces behind them. Edwen's father scowled at the boy.

“Be gone, Bellistar. Your kind has already caused enough problems tonight.”

Fredryc bowed deeply and turned to leave but Edwen grabbed him by the arm.

“He can stay, father. He isn't any trouble.”

Ryden snorted. “He's a Bellistar, that's all they are.”

Edwen fixed his father with a stern gaze but nodded at Fredryc. The boy gave him a grateful look before departing as ordered. Ryden clapped his hands together and cleared his throat.

“Right, now that the urchin is gone we can get underway.”

“Underway with what?” Edwen asked as he pulled his hand away from Alessa.

Ryden reached under his cloak and pulled out a large scabbard. “Every true lord of a house has to have a sword that is every bit his equal. Shadow Guard has served the lords of this house since it was forged in old Valyria long ago. The day you can lay claim to Shadow Guard is long off, hopefully, but today you will claim a blade built in your own image.” Ryden presented the longsword scabbard to Edwen who took it with steady hands.

Gripping the blade tightly he pulled the longsword free. The light of the Great Hall danced off the steel blade with blinding radiance. It felt right in his hands, not too heavy but not too light. The ornate onyx and silver bands in the cross-guards were expertly crafted. There wasn't a single flaw that Edwen's expert eyes could see. His father's smile was so wide it threatened to tear his face in two.

“I give you Grayfang! The finest blade to be made in the Cold Forges since their creation during the reign of the King in the North a thousand years ago.” Ryden said proudly. “This sword will serve you until the time comes to claim the Lord's Chair and take ownership of Shadow Guard.”

Edwen knew just how much it must have cost to have this sword built. No one in the North could have commissioned such a weapon, most people in the South couldn't either. He resheathed the sword and embraced his father warmly. It was a truly handsome gift, the kind you presented to a king not your son.

“Thank you father, I shall cherish it.”

Ryden clapped his son on the face. “I know you will.” He looked over his son's shoulder at Alessa who was standing patiently with her hands meshed in front of her. “Well, I guess I won't keep you any longer on your wedding night. I'm sure you've got more pressing matters to attend to.”

Ryden turned and wrapped an arm around his smiling wife and left the Great Hall. Edwen was admiring the craftsmanship of the scabbard of his new sword. Alessa stepped forward and examined the gift his parents had given him.

“You get one of the most expensive swords in the Seven Kingdoms as a wedding gift from your parents and all they give me is you. They don't like me very much do they?”

Edwen let out a genuine laugh and looked at her. “Look I know we have problems, but lets try to end tonight on a good note okay?”

Alessa nodded. “I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed.”

“As you wish....Lady Grayer.” Edwen scooped her up and tossed her over one shoulder as easily as a sack of fruit. Against her will he carried her up the stairs that sat just outside the hall and up to his chambers to make the wedding completely official.

 

 


	4. The House of Blood and Steel - Wyllam

**[WYLLAM]**  

 

The skies were cold and gray and the clouds delivered an unforgiving rain that chilled each man to their bones, but it wasn't going to stop the men of Ravenhold from going about their daily duties. The master-at-arms, Ser Erek Lonsaw was out in the training yard bundled up in a thick fur cloak yelling at fresh recruits who weren't wielding their steel they way he had instructed. Under the protection of a recently constructed tent men from the Rathmore delegation watched and guffawed at the young guardsmen as they trained. The two recruits in the yard were barely over fifteen and neither had held a sword of any kind before, mistakes were to be expected. Still the Rathmore delegation laughed and scoffed when one of the boys stumbled or took a hard hit from their opponent. Their blades were tourney blades, dulled to not cause any real injury but even a dulled sword was still a sword.

One of the recruits hit the other with a cringe-worthy blow on the back right square between the shoulder blades which caused the poor boy to yelp and fall to the ground. The Rathmores were practically rolling with laughter. Wyllam could see the set to Ser Erek's jaw and knew that trouble was brewing. Under the tent housing the Rathmores were Lord Cameryn's three sons: Harlen the oldest and strongest brother, Weylan the smartest brother and Masen the youngest brother. All three of them were indeed accomplished swordsmen in their own right but even they had been exactly where the two recruits in the yard were at some point. Ser Erek's arms dropped to his sides and he made to turn towards the tent but Wyllam grabbed hold of his arm.

“No, they're still drunk on wine from last night.” he said. “Let them laugh. If your recruits can't take some heckling then they won't be able to handle a man trying to take their head off in battle.”

Ser Erek growled. “Its a distraction they don't need.”

“Aye, but there are many distractions in battle. Maybe its for the best that they learn how to tune them out now instead of later.”

The master-at-arms shrugged and shot the Rathmore tent a dirty look. “I'd like to see them square off against Lord Edwen in the training yard. They wouldn't be laughing then.”

Wyllam smiled, despite the fresh black eye that he was sporting courtesy of his older brother. “I'd wager he could teach the Rathmores quite a thing or two about swordsmanship.”

Erek was the same age as Edwen, twenty-two years old and already a very accomplished warrior. He was the eldest son of the previous master-at-arms who had been killed in a hunting accident a few years ago. Wyllam's father had decided to pass the title of master-at-arms down to him after long conversations with his small council and some added badgering from Edwen and Erek's cousin Jafer, the captain of the guard. Erek held the lofty distinction of being the second best sword in Ravenhold behind Edwen and had produced a very high-quality of soldier from the training yards since taking up the job. Wyllam agreed that it would be fun to watch his older brother take the Rathmore brood on in a sparring match. The only one of the three brothers that probably stood a chance against him was the big one Harlen. As much as he cared for Chelsie he cared very little for her family. They were very much like their father, clad in purple and gold velvet, their fingers were adorned with large gleaming jewels and they were surrounded by the whores that had been brought with them concealed as handmaidens.

“Though I'd wager you'd be able to teach them a thing or two as well Wyllam.” Ser Erek said.

Wyllam snorted. “Without a doubt, but I'm still not as dangerous as my brother with a blade.”

“Aye, have you seen the sword your father presented to him yesterday?”

“No.” Wyllam said. He had heard the rumbling throughout the guards who had heard it from the handmaidens who served Alessa that Edwen had been given a magnificent blade. An expensive piece of steel adorned with silver and onyx and gleamed like the light of a full moon. He highly doubted that his father would ever present him with a gift like that. Especially if he married someone like Chelsie.

Erek let out a low whistle. “Its quite a piece of steel. I saw it this mornin' when Lord Edwen came down to the barracks to speak with Jafer.”

“What did he want with Jafer?”

Erek shrugged. “He wanted to talk about the ride out of Ravenhold with the Bellistars last night. Don't know why, Jafer and his group came back in one piece.”

“You know Edwen, he likes to get his reports firsthand.” Wyllam said pulling his shadowcat cloak closer around him as the wind picked up. “I still can't believe he let the Bellistars into the wedding.”

“Aye, just a bunch as sour fucks pissin' and moanin' about losin' shit that was never theirs to begin with.” Erek said. “Invitin' the fucks to the weddin' was just askin' for trouble. The Rathmores had somethin' to do with it didn't they?”

“That's what Edwen says.”

“Maybe your....friend could shed some light on what exactly their connection is?” Erek said trying to be discreet and avoid saying Chelsie's name.

Wyllam appreciated the attempt but sighed heavily. “I wont be in any position to ask today, and I doubt the last thing she would want to do is talk about the Bellistars.”

Erek gave him a knowing grin. “And what do you suppose she'd want to do instead?”

Wyllam grinned back.

“Its no secret you two fancy each other, we've all seen the looks on your faces when you're together in the same room. Can't keep your eyes off each other.”

“I promised Edwen I wouldn't let her get in the way of my daily duties.” Wyllam said. “He made it very clear that he doesn't want father suspecting what me and Chelsie might be up to.”

“Good man, your brother. Always lookin' out for you, even though your big enough to take on a wild boar by yourself.” Erek said turning back to his trainees and swearing at one of them for dropping his blade in the mud. “I tell you Wyllam I don't know how my father did it for all those years, trainin' snot nosed kids like these and turnin' 'em into soldiers like you, Jafer and Edwen.”

“You're doing a fine job of it Erek, your father would be proud.”

“He'd more likely be puttin' a boot in my ass and tellin' me I was doin' somethin' wrong.” Erek laughed. “He always had more patience for his trainees than he ever did with me.”

“Fathers expect more from their sons.” Wyllam said. “I know from experience.”

“You're the second-born of the Lord of Ravenhold, of course your father was going to expect more from you.” Erek said crossing his arms under his cloak. “You turned out alrigh', you're captain of the Lord's Honor Guard.”

Wyllam could only grunt. It wasn't exactly an honor to be the captain of his father's honor guard. It was mostly following him around the holdings and making sure that he wasn't slain by the wildlings that were slipping past the Nights Watch at the Wall and standing by his side while his father talked of business with lesser lords or the occasional envoy from Kings Landing. It was those tiresome meetings that often made him want to drive his blade through his own skull. Edwen had always been more inclined towards the business part of their father's duties, even before he'd began to be groomed for the lordship of Ravenhold. Swords were his older brothers life, their father always said that if Edwen hadn't been born as a lord he would most likely have been born as a smith and an incredible smith at that. Wyllam grinned, Alessa may have been happier if Edwen had been a smith instead of a lord in waiting. Erek tapped him on the shoulder and pointed towards the tent that the Rathmores had taken shelter under. His father and brother, flanked by Jafer and a trio of his knights, were making their way towards Lord Rathmore and looking not to happy.

“Better go an' make sure that things don't get too out of hand.” Erek said.

“You're probably right.” Wyllam said as he turned towards the Rathmores and left Erek to his recruits.

Before he even got to the tent he could already see that his father and brother were arguing with the Rathmores and the biggest brother Harlen was glaring at Edwen. Suddenly the possibility of a sword fight between the two of them looked rather imminent. Jafer saw him walking towards the tent and stepped out from under the fabric. His brown hair was matted with rain already, his dark eyes set in a grim expression.

“What is wrong?” Wyllam asked as he reached the captain of the guard.

“Men from Rathmore's party got rough with the smallfolk last night and caused some damage to the tavern.” Jafer said. “His son Harlen took a group to Eveswood and hurt a few of the girls at the brothel, Feldin is furious and wants Lord Grayer to make it right.”

Eveswood was a small village just on the border of the Wolfswood within the boundaries of Ravenhold and less than an hour from the keep. It was a small hub of commerce for the weapons that were made in the Cold Forges, all of them sent to Eveswood and then carried to White Harbor to be shipped to the houses who procured them. The brothel that had been visited by the Rathmores was owned by Feldin Murring who happened to own the trading company that carried Grayer steel to White Harbor. Wyllam's father always went out of his way to placate the man even though he didn't care for some of his other business endeavors such as the brothel. Sure there were other companies that could carry the weapons to White Harbor, but none as close or cheap as the one in Eveswood.

If his father did nothing it would anger Feldin who would then most likely threaten to end their business arrangement which would then push back the shipping schedule that the smiths in Ravenhold strictly adhered to. It would take days to get another company up to Ravenhold to collect the weapons, which would make delivery to the ships in White Harbor longer which in turn would result in the customer receiving their goods a lot later than expected. It was a headache that wasn't needed, not with the possibility of problems with House Bellistar looming after the previous nights incident.

“I will not pay some lousy whore house operator who claims his ratty shit hole was damaged by my men!” Cameryn Rathmore bellowed at Wyllam's father. Rathmore was a purple-faced walrus of a man clad in gold and purple silks and velvets. “For all you know those damages occurred months ago during some drunken brawl. This Feldin Murring is taking you for a fool Grayer, he saw well dressed lords from another house coming to take in his services and decided to try and make a little extra profit by blaming them.”

“What do you say about the damages your men caused in the tavern here in our keep Lord Rathmore?” Edwen asked calmly. “Surely you don't mean to say that two of our esteemed business colleagues would try to cheat you out of a few coppers?”

“Who's to say they wouldn't?” Harlen hissed. “The two of them could have conspired together.”

“Possibly, but I think not. Our guards were there to break up the hostilities you and your brothers started.” Edwen shot back. “Are you going to claim they were in on this....conspiracy?”

“Guards can be bought here in Ravenhold just as easily as they can anywhere else.” Lord Rathmore snorted as he grabbed his wine goblet. “A man would say anything if it put a few coppers in his pocket.”

Jafer stepped forward. “Not my guards. If they say that men from House Rathmore caused damages in our tavern and at a brothel in a town under our protection then it is the truth.” He growled. “The only liar here Lord Rathmore is you.”

Harlen shot out of his seat and pointed at Jafer. “How dare you speak to the lord of House Rathmore like that! I should cut out your tongue and feed it to the dogs.”

Jafer crossed his large arms over his chest. “You would do well to remember you are no lord here Harlen, you are but a worm amongst crows ripe for the picking.”

Harlen's face went red with rage and he reached for his sword as he sputtered “You insolent bastard-”

But before he could say anymore a slender figure clad in a dark cloak slid between him and the group of Grayer men. Alessa fixed her older brother with a dark stare.

“Father, Harlen, please think about what you are doing.” She pleaded. “You are refusing to do as your liege lord commands, men have been beheaded for much less!”

Harlen snorted. “We caused no damage last night, this Feldin Murring just wants to milk all he can from the influx of wealthy lords in his town.”

Alessa fixed her eyebrows in a look of incredulity. “I don't believe that anymore than Lord Grayer does. Pay the price of the damages and lets put this foolishness to bed.”

“You've been in this hold for far too long sister, you forget who you are talking to.” Harlen said.

Alessa inhaled and stood at her full height which was almost chest level of the two men she was standing between.

“I know full well who I am talking to,” She said quietly. “It is you who forgets who he is talking to. I am not your little sister, I am the wife of a Lord of House Grayer and you will do what I tell you!”

Lord Rathmore stood up from his chair just as Harlen reached back and smacked Alessa across her face hard enough to drop her to the ground. In a single instant Wyllam saw the lesser lord's face twist into a look of horror as Edwen, Jafer and the other knights of Ravenhold engulfed Harlen in a pile of leather, mail and steel. In the next instant Weylan Rathmore jumped into the fray to aid his older brother followed by the youngest brother Masen and the guardsmen of House Rathmore. Wyllam wanted to jump in and aid his brother, but as commander of the Lord's Guard he had other duties. Forcefully he grabbed his father around the bicep and hauled him out and away from the melee under the Rathmore tent.

“Ser Erek!” he shouted to training yard behind him. The master-at-arms came rushing over with the castellan Varrin Ashfield and a dozen other guards who began to wade into the battle of fists, feet and teeth waging below. In a quick second Wyllam saw Alessa curled up in a ball under the weight of several dozen men trying to cover her face as best she could. “Father stay here with Ser Erek.”

Before anyone could say something he was wading into the brawl. A Rathmore guard grabbed him by the shoulder and aimed a heavy blow at his head, but just like Harlen and his brothers the guard was too drunk on wine and missed his mark. Wyllam grabbed him by the front of his tunic and rammed his forehead into the Rathmore guard's face, breaking the mans nose. He felt the warm spray of blood hit his face as he let go of the screaming guard and reached down to where he had last seen his sister-in-law. He found a slender arm that could only be hers and pulled hard, moving her out of the bloody mess as more guardsmen from the keep came rushing in to break up the fight. Alessa tripped over an unmoving body and fell against his chest, Wyllam adjusted his grip and grabbed her under her arms and dragged her out of the tent to safety. She managed to regain her footing and stood shakily as Wyllam let go of her. Her face was red where her brother had slapped her and her bottom lip was split and bleeding freely.

Ryden shoved Wyllam out of the way and walked back towards the tent. “Enough of this!” He bellowed loudly. The melee came to a stop and all eyes turned towards the lord of Ravenhold. “I will not have my vassal brawling with the guards of my keep!”

Slowly the two group broke apart trading heated glances at each other. Edwen and Jafer emerged from the tangle of Grayer guardsman, bloodied and bruised. The Rathmore brothers had faired far worse, Harlen was unconscious on the ground with his face shrouded in a thick sheen of blood, Weylan was sitting up cradling an arm his expensive silks caked in mud. Masen had suffered the least amount of damage, sporting an already blackened eye and a split lip. Edwen stopped and turned and went back to the beaten Rathmore siblings. He bent over Harlen's body and began removing the expensive golden trinkets that adorned his fingers and hung around his neck. He then moved on to Weylan and Masen and had little trouble in convincing them to hand over their gold trinkets as well. Wyllam and his father looked on trading uncertain glances as Edwen turned to face Lord Rathmore.

“Hand it over.” Edwen growled. His gray leather tunic was matted with mud and the blood of Harlen Rathmore, the short-sleeved mail shirt he was wearing under his leathers was missing a few links and blood was weeping out from under the right sleeve.

Rathmore glared at Edwen. “How dare you!”

Edwen stepped closer. “Hand. It. Over!” His eyes were wild with fury. Reluctantly Rathmore began to remove his rings from his fat fingers and handed them over to the young lord. The old lesser lord huffed and showed his hands.

“There, that's all of it.”

“The necklace.” Edwen said pointing at the gold chain with a miniature golden eagle hanging from it. “That goes to.”

“This necklace has been handed down to the each lord of House Rathmore to the next. I will not relinquish it to you Lord Grayer.”

“Yes you will,” Edwen said eerily calmly. “Or I will put you in the mud alongside your sons.”

“This is an outrage.” Rathmore said as he slipped the chain over his head and deposited it in Edwen's outstretched hand.

“Should have just paid the damages like your daughter told you to.” Edwen said as he turned around. “It would have been a lot less costly to your house.”

The Grayers all walked away from the tent and the smallfolk began to disperse. Ryden looked at his oldest son with some disappointment.

“Was all of that really necessary?” he asked Edwen. “Did you need to rob them to get your point across? Was a bloody beating not enough for you?”

Edwen gave his father a sour look as he dropped the Rathmore gold into a small silk sack and tied it around his belt. “I didn't rob them, this is how they're going to pay for the damages in the tavern and to Mr. Murring in Eveswood.” He examined the gold necklace that Rathmore said had been passed from lord to lord in his house. Alessa stepped up beside him.

“I would like to have that.” She said. “It would greatly anger my brother to see me wearing it.”

Edwen smiled and handed it to her. “As far as I am concerned my lady, you are the true ruler of House Rathmore. Wear it proudly.” He said with a smile. She fastened it around her neck and fingered the miniature eagle. Edwen put an arm around her an steered her towards the keep. “Lets get you to the maester.”

She let him steer her away from the training yard and then turned around and walked back over to Wyllam.

“Thank you.” she said as she stood up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. He bowed his head and smiled.

“Just doing my job, my lady.”

Alessa smiled and walked back to Edwen and the pair of them disappeared into the keep a few moments later.

Ryden growled in disgust. “He should have handled that better. You do not start a brawl to deal with that situation.”

“Harlen struck his wife right in front of him.” Wyllam said, it wasn't often he had to stand up for his brother. “What would you have done if it had been mother? Would you have tried to talk it out?”

Ryden fixed his youngest son with a tired set of eyes. “The age of fist fights and brawls is behind me Wyllam, but if I were thirty years younger....I would have caved that man's head in.”

“So you have no right to be angry with Edwen then.” he grinned at his father. “You would have killed the man, all Edwen did was beat him senseless.”

Ryden sighed. “True, it was only yesterday I was telling your mother that Edwen is the cooler head amongst the two of you. Now today Edwen is brawling in the training yard and you're standing on the edge of it protecting your lord and your sister-in-law.”

“Things will get back to normal once its only our house occupying this hold.” Wyllam said. “What are you going to do about Rathmore and his open defiance of a direct order?”

“I will treat it as a man too drunk on strongwine to see what he was doing.” Ryden said. “I think your brother delivered a fair enough punishment. Humiliation in front of all these other lords will suffice for now.”

“If it happens again?”

“I will take his head and put someone more reliable in his place.” He turned and beckoned to Jafer who was standing a few feet away chatting with his cousin Ser Erek. “Jafer I want guards watching the Rathmores for the rest of the day. Make sure that the men you choose didn't have any part in the brawl today. I want no more problems for the rest of their stay.”

Jafer bowed. “I'll see that it is done.”

“Go clean yourself up first though, are you well?”

“A few scratches and cuts my lord, I've suffered worse.” Jafer said dismissively.

Ryden nodded and waved him away. “Alright off with you then.”

“At least you know that the captain of the guard is loyal to your heir.” Wyllam said. “He sprang into the fight before any of the other guards did.”

“Aye, Jafer and your brother have been friends since before they could walk.” Ryden said. “The man is one of our finest soldiers, him and Ser Erek keep the guards in fine shape.”

Wyllam could only laugh, “It would do him well to hear you say that father. Some of the new recruits have him frustrated to the point where people will soon be calling him Ser Erek the Grayer.”

Ryden shot him a sour look. “I suppose I deserved that, I haven't been the most loving of fathers when it comes to you recently. I trust you know its nothing to do with you?”

“I know why you are angry with me.” Wyllam said not really looking forward to the conversation he knew would come eventually. “You're angry because of Chelsie.”

“Aye,” Ryden said as he put his hand on his second-born's shoulder and steered him towards the tavern. “I can't have you marrying a bastard, especially one from a lesser house.”

“And because she is the daughter of Lord Rathmore.”

Ryden inhaled sharply. “One Rathmore daughter in this family is enough. I want no more interaction with that man than I have to absolutely have to endure.”

Wyllam couldn't fault his father for that. Cameryn Rathmore was a poor man's Robert Baratheon, whoring and spending more than he could afford.

“Have you even had a conversation with Chelsie? She is much more than just a bastard from a vassal house, she's every bit as smart as Alessa is.”

“I can appreciate your attraction to a smart woman Wyllam but another union with House Rathmore doesn't gain our house anything.” Ryden said. “Lord Ristan of House Darre has offered his daughter Jennica's hand in marriage to you.”

“House Darre?” Wyllam said racking his brain to recall the name. “That's one of Jon Arryn's vassals isn't it?”

“Aye it is and a wealthy one with connection in King's Landing, the one place we have yet to secure contracts for our steel.” Ryden said.

“Lord Ristan has promised to help you secure those contracts if I take his daughter's hand.” Wyllam guessed.

“Yes.” Ryden said. Wyllam couldn't help but feel his father's eyes burrowing into the side of his head as they walked. “I want you to consider the proposal.”

Wyllam didn't have time to reply, as they were walking through the crowd of smallfolk who were still dispersing after the altercation between the Rathmores and Grayer guards, they walked right into Chelsie who had come out of the Great Hall once word of the fight had made its way inside. She had been craning her head around the area where the Rathmores were still collecting themselves after the scuffle, probably looking for her sister.

“Sorry,” she said dismissively as she looked up at Ryden. Her eyes went wide as recognition lit up her eyes. “Lord Ryden! My apologize, I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking. I was looking for someone.”

Wyllam saw his father's eyes narrow. “And who were you looking for child? Your troublesome brothers or your beastly father?” Ryden asked crossing his large arms over his chest and glaring down at her.

Chelsie fixed him with the same defiant stare she had given Edwen the previous night before she had smacked him. If she smacked the lord of Ravenhold a severe punishment was all but certain.

“Edwen took your sister to the maester,” Wyllam said quickly trying to defuse a very volatile situation before it erupted. “She had a few cuts a bruises he wanted to get looked at.”

Chelsie bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord Grayer.” she stepped around the two of them and headed towards the keep.

Wyllam could feel the anger brewing in the pit of his stomach as he watched her walk away. The anger didn't take long to form into ice-cold decision and he looked back at his father.

“I will agree to marry Lord Ristan's daughter on one condition.” Wyllam said.

Suspicion fell on his father's face. “What condition?”

“You look the other way when it comes to me and Chelsie for the rest of the week.”

“Absolutely not!” Ryden thundered.

“Then I will not marry Lord Darre's daughter and you don't get your King's Landing deal.” Wyllam said continuing on towards the tavern.

“Wait.” Ryden said grabbing his bicep and pulling him back. “For the rest of the week, and then when the Rathmores are gone this business is put to bed and I never hear the name Chelsie Snow again!”

“Deal.” Wyllam said though the words hurt him to say.

“Get this bastard girl out of your system and for the love of the Gods do not get her pregnant. It is one complication I do not need.” Wyllam nodded and his father clapped his hands together. “Great, I will send word to Lord Ristan immediately. It will take him two weeks to travel here from South Rise, he will want to introduce Jennica to her new husband as soon as possible.”

Wyllam exhaled and turned away from his father. “You'll forgive me if I don't seemed overjoyed father, excuse me.” He said as he gave his father a wave and turned his attention towards other more pleasant things.

 

 


End file.
